Edlund felt as if every bone in his body was magically transformed into lead. Moving them was a pain, far greater than he usually gets from pulling wheat and straw all day. He hadn't realized exactly how sore he was after tussling with the man with glowing armor till he was sat on one of the physician's wooden tables that rose to his stomach. The soft wool cloth was a relief, but still, he moved like a wooden doll. Half of the large room was filled with these beds tucked as close to the walls as possible, and an opening running the length of the chamber. Near the entrance, the physician's tools hung and dangled from hooks and latest in bags, a sink permanently stained in blood, and several herbs, flowers, and roots he never saw before. The room wasn't really packed.

Besides himself and Gray, about five others laid on spare tables with varying injuries. One was bandaged over his arm, kept strictly straight out with long carved sticks. Another had his left eye covered in white clothe, his shirt dampened with blood. Gray laid beside him, still unconscious but breathing steadily. The physician was preparing balms and ointments to treat the blisters that appeared, humming as he did so. The ceramic mask shaped like a bird's beak covered everything but his eyes bobbed to an invisible tune as if the song in his eyes drowned out the groans of pain. Two beady black eyes poked out just above the mask, seemingly focused on everything at once, nothing really leaving their sight.

"This is only the lighter days," he swiped his hands across the wide room lazily, the dim candles seemingly flickering as he did so. His voice was deep, but hushed like he was talking from down a well. "Once day breaks, there will be more than I'd know what to do with alone. Going to have to call some of the local doctors for assistance."

He brought over a small red ceramic jar fill with a dull red paste. After carefully removing Gray's armor and shirt, he began applying it to all the redder parts of his arms, chest, and face.

"Exhaustion," the doctor said when he saw all of the soars. "Interesting. Usually, only mages have to worry about such things. Must be quite a weapon if it did this much damage to his soul."

"You know about mages," Edlund asked him, and the beak wobbled up and down.

"Aye," he closed the rubber cap on the jar and returned it to the shelf he grabbed it from. "Back during the war, I roamed the fields along with countless others. Back when those of the empire and Torlak shed the same blood. Those dark days, when the empire nearly tore in two. It seemed then as if all our enemies had turned their heads at once. Including ourselves."

The doctor returned with a black bag of instruments, clanging against one another as he set them on the stool next to Edlund's bed. He gulped and chuckled nervously as he took out small knives, creams, and instruments for examination, the kind he feared the most.

"Hey, is that all for me?" He asked the doctor cautiously, who was already searching every inch of Edlund's body for injuries. "I'm honestly flattered, but I don't believe such implementation is needed-"

"Nonsense my boy," as Edlund tried to rise, the doctor's stiff hand was placed on his chest and forced him down with surprising strength. Edlund could feel fear taking hold of him. There was only one physician in BrokenArrow, an older woman. He remembered when he was young when plowing the field, playing outside with Lyse and other kids, he would accidentally cut himself, or others somehow. The doctor was comforting. She did not have the long beakish mask, but a face mask resembling a doll's smile. It was comforting, her large black eyes looking upon him with care and love. He tried to hold onto those feelings as he was undressed, and the cold fingers of this doctor trailed his body like he was preparing to dissect him.

"I never caught your name," Edlund told him, trying to take his mind off of the moment.

The beak cocked to the side, but his eyes were not taken off of his diligent work. "Why is it important?"

"I don't know," Edlund admitted, shivering as the fingers trailed bruise on his shoulder, and the burns from when he touched the armor. "I'd like to have a name to tell my ancestors in the afterlife."

"Ah, I see," Edlund couldn't guess at what kind of smile laid beyond those beady eyes, almost lifeless. "You can tell them that Loimós sent you. But don't worry, these injuries are nothing severe."

He was right at least. Some balms and ointments for the burns, a few stitches and bandages, he would be good as new. He was not quite fully aware of how much he soldiered in that dungeon. The burns received when in contact with that flaming serpent were still quite visible across his chest. The cuts and bruises from the Lamia were certainly pulsing every now and again. And the beating he got in return from that giant man was still relatively fresh. Yet, in just an hour, he was mostly patched up and ready to go. And he spent that hour in deep contemplation, deeper than ever before. He thought all the way back to his days training under the knight Gabbes. Running till his lungs burned and his arms felt like bleeding. Running, faster than those he trained with, faster than Lyse. Lifting large rocks as large as a man and putting cracks into them with bleeding knuckles. Yet, when it came to a waster training, taking those wooden swords, Lyse would have him at the point each and every time.

He clutched his bedsheets. Fate, where do I even go from here?

When Loimós finished bandaging the last of the cuts, he began to gather his instrument to take to a sink, a round metal tub filled with strange-smelling water in the corner of the room. The doctor tossed whatever he used on Edlund into the water, taking a cloth and washing them as thoroughly as possible. In the meantime, Elena walked in, still a little inebriated from the stronger ales that she brought to the table, but only manifested in her rosy cheeks. Those same furrowed brows and angular features remained stoic as always.

"Had fun you two?" Edlund jeered.

"Lyse turned in early, I just came to see how Gray is doing," she told him as she strode into the room, stopping seeing Loimós in the corner washing his tools. "Good to see you Loimós. Treating your patients well I hope?"

"Ah, Elena, a pleasure," he turned on his heels, grabbing a new set of black gloves from a stack next to the sink. His beak raised a bit in acknowledgment, a pleasant tone ensued. "It has been a while, daughter of Atticus Rosenwald."

"My father often came by here," Elena explained to Edlund, who gave her an odd, and puzzled look. "We would collect special herbs for him, along with some other extravagant ingredients. I swear he might be trying to make his own lab of abominations."

Edlund gulped, his throat suddenly tightening at the thought. "I must say, doctor, your case on whether or not I should trust you is not very strong. It's almost damning evidence to the contrary."

"Oh please," the doctor closed his black leather bag, it's contents clanking and scraping so uncomfortably, Edlund shivered in his position. "I leave such things to Vince of Hath. Where they seek mere satisfaction in advancements, I find it in mending those that are broken, two different paths my boy. Now, you shall rest for this night. Your wounds would at least healed over a week's worth at that time. It will leave less than a scar. You, my dear, what is the purpose of your visit?"

"I came to check on Gray," she walked over to his bedside, his steadily sleeping figure lying sprawled on the raised caught and his wounds recently tended to. Still, there was a stiffness in how he slept, as if she could see something holding his body in that uncomfortable position. His skin was still red, although lessening now. She saw how bad it could have gotten if he used that blade even once more. And yet, she still asked the doctor that question.

"How bad was it?" she asked silently, and the doctor was uncomfortably silent as well.

Eventually, he did manage to answer, with a deliberate, careful tone. "A fine lad that is. However, creating water from nowhere must take a toll on the physical body. A strain only those of Torlak are trained to endure. They call it Hing Sickness, a weakness ofthe soul that shows itself in the body. If you presented him to meany later, he could have critically been injured, and I would doubt he would be able to even wield a sword at that point. I suggest he be careful or at least take some training to deal with these ill effects before they become too severe next time."

(X)

When Lyse awoke the next morning, he felt as if he had slept for days, wherein true the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. As Lyse's foggy eyes looked out of his window, out towards the north and over the mountain, the dull red of the sky reminded him of the blood of that boney tree, and those monsters that guarded them. He thought that good sleep was beyond him after the horror and stress experienced in that dungeon. Some of the cuts still stung, and drops of blood spotted the fresh sheets like darkening pools after a storm. He half expected to see Edlund there, still snoring as the day would never come, and he would have to shake him awake. But now, such pleasantries of peasant living was gone. He was expected to rise on his own, and be ready at a moment's call all on his own. It was still something that had not sunk in because he had yet to really have time to adjust to his surroundings.

With a sigh, he sat up in his bed, looking down at the armor that he had thrown off that night. To his startlement, they were all freshly changed and washed. They laid in neat piles, his gambison fresher than he has ever seen it, little specks of dirt all that is left as a tribute to all the time he wore it in training, marching through the hill in full battle gear, practically racing everyone through the exercise, even Gabbes who trained him. When he would accompany his father to the nearest town to sell their crops, although never feeling that his presence was ever necessary. Even the sword, the sword his father bled to make, shined free of blood, better than what he could have done. And as he expected, not a scratch upon its hard surface. He placed all this apparel upon himself, the momentoes of his village, of his home with him, with the comforting smell of the field still clinging onto them despite the rigorous attempts to rid them of it.

Just a few moments later, he heard loud, clamoring footsteps like a deer was trampling through the halls. It turned out that nothing so elegant, but in turn brutish, as Edlund, freshly bandaged and smiling, slammed open the door. His skin was still a bit red around his arms, waxed linen still clinging to his wounds. But otherwise, he looked like the same Edlund that left the village, with a chin, now held a bit higher. Behind him was Gray, who seemed to be doing much better, but a sick and tired expression constantly weighed on his face, though he tried to smile all the same. Edlund almost immediately grabbed onto Lyse's arm as he was tying his shoes down, trying to pull him out of the room.

"Come on, we will be late, Elena already went on ahead," Edlund said in cherry tones as if he was seeing jesters perform. To an extent, Lyse understood his enthusiasm. Being the first team out of the dungeon was a big honor, one that can not be overlooked, no matter where you are from. Surely people would want them there as the other teams would begin exiting the dungeon, purely for the interest."

"Fine," Lyse managed to wrench free of his grasp, grabbing his sword holster and a cloak. Even this deep within the castle, it was pretty lively, more so from when they first arrive. Curious eyes still laid upon them, but instead of suspicion, the vibe seemed to shift to a hint of marvel. Words traveled fast, even in such a large city. When a baby is born within the plain villages, it is known within that day the child's name. Lyse thought it astonishing that the names of the current record holders are well known within the morning. Now it seemed every knight in the capital, every soldier with spare time and even some of the nobles traveled the journey up the mountain path to the entrance of the dungeon, where the king had stayed with his Paladins. The ceremony, for which the new knights shall choose their path within the empire. Today was that day, and Lyse couldn't help but smile.

Every so often, someone would approach them, eyeing them from the sea of pedestrians to congratulate them. Some would recount their encounters within, their own record, and even returning after finishing to beat that record. Lyse and Edlund found that alone to be a sign of insanity. To allow yourself the horror that lied within. Lyse didn't even want to think about those situations, the bridge especially. However, Lyse found it odd to the different paths that they all took, all the different monsters they had to slay, run away from, and avoid. One said that a pit would open to a pit full of undead animals, and you had to crawl out without getting bitten, otherwise, it was the end of the dungeon. Another fought a hydra, not knowing one of the key things to remember, and had to flee from a twenty headed serpent after it killed two of his old friends. That, at least, was common. A lot of deaths, whole squads being killed with only one survivor. They were told that they were lucky, as the chances of a four-man squad to survive were much slimmer than even finding a relic. Lucky is a word used quite often as well in these conversations. But still, there was an air to reminisce to. But some were not quite that tasteful in their approach.

Jealousy is nothing new to Lyse and Edlund. They found jealousy within themselves and others quite often training with nobles and children of merchants. They always had to work twice as hard to get anything that the noble children got. Lyse remembers his first gambison when he was sixteen after he sold many of their livestock and grain for that summer. But amidst this crowd, he felt woefully underdressed. Every fabric and embroidery of the world seemed to ascend the mountain, every third person wearing golden pins and jewel-encrusted rings and bracelets.

Lyse also was a bit startled to find some Thirian Knights in the crowd. The stony-faced, animalistic counterpart to the knights who mingled throughout the crowd. It was not many, probably one for every five men, but they seemed just as eager to reach the dungeon as well. Not many Thirians care to become knights, as they already have such great benefits being even closer in line with the wild than any human. But they too socialized, rather pleased to see the new crop of knights to be joining their ranks. This wasn't to mean that all conversations were as lightly tones. Many discussed the death toll, speculating drastically of those poor souls that died. This brought back the memory of all those bodies he found, much old and skin like parchment. He wondered how many of these people's "friends" he stepped over in the tunnel. Especially those that had the worst of it, who's death was far from honorable. Rarely did he engage in those conversations, slipping through by saying that he might of, but didn't see anything leading to anyone's identity. Edlund couldn't remember much of anything even if he tried. He tried to overlook such things.

As they came to the summit, they looked upon a massive crowd that immediately dwarfed him. He wouldn't know if he's be mistaken if he said every man and woman with title and sword had attended this. There was a clear space in the center of the clearing, where twenty of the sentinel guards stood in a tight circle around the king, forming the perimeter of where these new knights shall be welcomed. The king still sat, not looking back over to the crowd that clamored, nor his Paladins. In fact, they might as well not be there. Yet the king held that smile, less splendor from when he had when he greeted Lyse as if every person that would come next wasn't worth as warm a greeting. His Paladins stood like statues flanking either side of him, also facing the entrance with stony glances. The only one seemed to be loose in their appearance was Lupurious, who casually rocked on his heels and shifted his feet in the snow. He seemed to be excited to feel the sun hit his back, his golden armor reflecting the sun's golden rays.

A few minutes of confusion went by before Lyse locked eyes with Elena, who was having a conversation with a few more girls. Immediately Lyse saw that they were all related, probably sisters or cousins of Elena. He averted his gaze as he saw Elena point her finger to him. He waited a few seconds to look back, seeing her call them over. He gave an uncomfortable squeeze to his gloves, then patted Edlund and Gray's shoulder to point Elena out in return. They approached, and immediately the two other women seemed to analyze Lyse and Lyse alone. Their stare stiffened his back, even as he nodded a greeting to Elena. The first had long straight black hair like Elena, although braided, and golden clothe weaving through them as if restraining her hair. She wore a silver-grey dress with black trimming, sweeping to her black knee-high boots. A wool sweater covered her shoulder, lined with fur. her face was a bit more angular to the rounder face of Elena, but otherwise, they shared the same eyes, like a hawk upon a rabbit. The other was a counterpart. Same dark eyes and black hair, except hers spilled down her shoulders instead. She was a similar dress, green covered in a floral pattern that seemed to make her stand out to the brown ground around her perfectly. Her chin was held a bit higher as they approach, as though she tried to stare down the men who stood head and shoulders above her. Even Elena was substantially taller.

"This is Lyse and Edlund," Elena mentioned, and the two barely reacted as they tried to lock eyes with him. "They are from the plains, but they are quite talented actually. I doubt we would have made it with any other help, maybe even Dagmyre."

"Heard that you actually defeated the prick himself," the one with the braids snorted. "My name is Aura Rosenwald, daughter of Atticus Rosenwald. Peace be with you"

The other bowed her head, in a similar greeting as Lyse had done. Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet all the more attention-grabbing. "And my name is Selene Rosenwald, daughter of Atticus Rosenwald. Peace be with you."

"Peace be with you as well," Lyse told her, bowing his head to them as well.

"How are you?" Edlund smirked and did the same. "We're not one for titles."

"I can see that," Aura told him, barely glancing. "Thank you for accompanying my sister through the dungeon. The stars know she would have gone in alone and died if allowed. Also a bit surprising she even praises you without being here. She must have taken a particular interest in you."

The words may have been intended to both him and Edlund, but the tone made it more apparent that it was pointed specifically at Lysse. Even in the cold, Lyse's feet shifted uncomfortably as if he was in the Desserts of Shi'Ased. Edlund stifled a snicker, and both Gray and Elena averted their gaze for that moment. Elena then cleared her throat, as if she had something else to say, but Selene spoke before she did.

"Anywho, father will be very proud when words reach him," Selene said in an almost chiming voice. "Breaking the king's own record shows much promise. Shame you are not yet wed my dear sister, you would no doubt be enough to claim a name alone by this point."